Night Road

Jude pulled her scarf off. She was hot now, sweating, in fact, and the scarf was choking her. “I don’t stalk her. ”

“You stand in the trees and watch her at that after-school program, but you won’t hold her or play with her. What would you call it?”

Jude started to unbutton her coat. “Man, it’s hot. ”

“When was the last time you held Grace? Or kissed her?”

“Really. It’s an oven in here…”

“It’s not hot. ”

“Damn menopause. ”

“Jude,” Harriet said with an irritating patience. “You refuse to love your granddaughter. ”

“No,” Jude said, finally looking up. “I can’t love her. There’s a difference. I’ve tried. Do you really think I haven’t tried? But when I look at her, I feel … nothing. ”

“That’s not true, Jude. ”

“Look,” Jude sighed. “I get what you’re doing. We’ve done this dance for years. I tell you I can’t feel, and you toss back that I don’t want to. My brain is the boss. I get it. I do. The old me would have been certain you were right. ”

“And the new you?”

“The new me is living. That’s enough. I don’t burst into tears when I see pink anymore; I can start my car without crying; I can look at my son and not be angry at him. Sometimes I can look into his eyes without even thinking about Mia. I can pick my granddaughter up from school and give her a bath and read her a bedtime story, all without crying. You know how much progress this is. So can we just, for now, forget the next step and let me get through this day?”

“We could talk about Mia. ”

“No,” Jude said sharply. She’d learned a long time ago that talking about Mia only sharpened the pain.

“You need to talk about her. You need to remember her and grieve. ”

“I do nothing but grieve. ”

“No. Your grief is an artery that’s been clamped off. If you don’t take that clamp off and let it flow, you’ll never heal. ”

“So I won’t heal,” Jude said tiredly, leaning back into the sofa. “Big surprise. How about if we talk about Miles? We made love last week. That’s a good sign, don’t you think?”

Harriet sighed and made a notation on her pad. “Yes, Jude. That’s a good sign. ”

* * *

Every day after kindergarten was over, Grace went to the Silly Bear Day Care until Daddy got home from big-boy school.

On good days, like today, they all got to play outside, but Mrs. Skitter made them walk from the day care to the beach holding a scratchy yellow rope. Like they were babies.

As usual, Grace was at the very front of the line, right behind the teacher. She could hear the other kids laughing and talking and horsing around. She didn’t join in; she just followed along behind, staring at the big pillows of her teacher’s butt.

When they reached the beach park, Mrs. Skitter gathered the ten of them in a circle in front of her. “You know the rules. No going in the water. No fighting. Today we’re going to play hopscotch in the sand. Who wants to help me make the squares?”

Hands went up, kids started yelling, “Me, me, me!” and bouncing up and down. It reminded Grace of the baby birds she’d seen at the newborns exhibit her dad had taken her to. Chirp, chirp.

She walked over to her usual spot. Everyone knew she liked it here. She sat on a log in the sand, way out of the waves’ reach. Sometimes, if she was lucky, she saw a crab or a sand dollar. Mostly, she just talked to her best friend.

She stared down at the pink band she wore on her wrist. On its center, where there used to be a Minnie Mouse watch, her daddy had placed a small round mirror, about the size of her palm. It was the best present she’d ever gotten. It had allowed her to leave her bedroom. Before the wrist mirror, she’d spent hours standing in front of her bedroom mirror, talking to her friend, Ariel, who was a princess on another planet.

Grace wasn’t stupid. She knew that some of the other kids made fun of her for having an invisible friend, but she didn’t care. The kids in her class were stupid anyway.

None of them knew how quiet this planet could be, so they hadn’t learned to listen like she had. She was used to quiet. Her grandparents’ house was like a library sometimes.